


Frustration

by 37h4n0l



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, nero's pov, poor Barbero, poorbero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8419300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/pseuds/37h4n0l
Summary: Avilio goes a little far with his innuendos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The 2PPOV style is severely discriminated and I want to change its public perception... My sinmates from the Hellchat told me to put this up, so here you go; one of those frustratingly middle-length fics too long to be a drabble but too short to be a oneshot.

Avilio blows out a copious amount of smoke after releasing the cigarette from his lips, which you stare at for way longer than you should. In fact, you’ve given up on pretending you’re not looking at him. It’s so obvious, and he should know  _ damn better _ than sitting in front of you like that, hunched forward with his legs crossed, smoking as if both of you are so casual and relaxed. Well, he might be, but you’re certainly not, and that son of a bitch can see it on you, you know it. Avilio can read people, so you’re not sure why he’s torturing you; probably just sadistic amusement. 

 

He knows it attracts your eyes like a  _ magnet _ when he loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt at the top, showing off pale skin and collarbones; he knows you’d bite into him right there and the only reason you don’t do it is because you have  _ a shred of decency _ in you, still. He stretches lazily and everything about him looks so deceivingly attenuated, wrists you could easily break and a waist effortless to bend. He’s tough but he’s underfed and short and physically inferior to you and you have  _ no fucking clue _ why that’s an appeal or how you’ve become such an utterly disgusting person. 

 

And Avilio keeps it up. He keeps making those subtle movements of invitation at you, and sometimes you think you’re imagining the whole thing or reading too much into it, but the bolder it gets, the less confident you are in the benefit of the doubt you’re giving him. 

 

He’s leaning back in the armchair, taking another sip from the cigarette. His knees move slowly, he’s outright  _ spreading his legs _ , and in the meanwhile his gaze is etched into yours, semi-obfuscated by the cloud of smoke. It’s one of those moments when the light hits his eyes and they become yellow, with narrow pupils, like a cat’s. Your knuckles are about to snap your cigar - which you’ve barely consumed yet, considering you’ve been sitting still for at least a minute. A minute that seemed like an hour. 

 

Immobile, like a statue, the smoke is the only thing in motion as it swirls around him like clouds on a windy day. You look at his eyes again,  _ those eyes _ , half-lidded and cornered by dark lashes. He’s pretty, sinfully pretty. His skin is so light it would probably get flushed very easily. You’d see the marks of embarrassment as clear as day if you ever crossed that line. If you said something dirty to him on purpose. If you even just voiced your thoughts. Who are you kidding, you won’t do any of those; you have a reputation to keep up and you don’t want to risk ruining everything between the two of you if this is a misunderstanding.

 

But you swear to god, if he makes  _ one more _ of those movements…

 

The worst is when he touches you. They’re rare occasions, mostly formal, and those gestures on his part could be completely appropriate, but you can still see something behind them. That day at your father’s office, when you became Don, for instance. You’ve seen the ceremony, you know people kiss hands. You did it to many mafia members and it was done to you several times too. Ganzo, Barbero - everyone does it, and yet Avilio is the only one who stands out for some reason. It’s definitely loyalty on the others’ part, but Avilio’s kiss has a different undertone to it. He bows down and hangs his head, almost in  _ submission _ , dear god, and his soft lips press against the back of your hand, wettening it ever so slightly. You start imagining things at the worst of moments. He could take your fingers and suck on them with that emotionless but innocent face, engulfing them all the way in and wrapping his tongue around them. They’d disappear in warm wetness slowly, short-circuiting your brain. He’d look at you the same way, neutrally, like you aren’t supposed to feel anything about this. 

 

You’re shaken up from your fantasies when he finally shifts, his lips curling up. There’s both sweetness and cruelty in that smile and if you were a  _ real man _ , the assertive mafia boss everyone thinks you are, you’d smack him in the face. This line of thought breaks the news to you that you’re malleable in his cold, spindly hands. You’re still a weakling, after all. 

 

“Are you tense, Nero?”

 

He says your name like a punchline to a joke. And surely, you’re a fool deserving to be made fun of, and yes,  _ tense _ as well, for Christ’s sake. You finally take the cigar in your mouth, begging the nicotine to make your head go light and your muscles relax. 

 

“How’s it feel to be Don?” He speaks again, a fluttering of his eyelids cleverly masqueraded as blinking. You’re not being fooled by his antics, he’s clearly teasing you. You don’t know what answer he expects.

 

“I have yet to come to terms with it completely.” You attempt a smirk and your eyebrows do the tic of furrowing, like every time you’re nervous. 

 

“I understand,”  _ Where is he going with this? _ “You’ve inherited many goods at once, after all.”

 

Avilio stands up and you hold out a small bit of hope that he’ll leave the room. It’s useless, he’s walking up to you and practically sitting on the armrest, backside a mere few inches away from your hand. No, you have to resist this fucker’s manipulation, this is madness. 

 

“The entire family, this house, everything belongs to you.” His tone is amused  _ or _ he’s making it sound like that on purpose, you can’t really tell. “And that involves the personnel, the subordinates, everyone. You decide if they live or die. You can ask anything of them.”

 

He inhales smoke again as you grip the armchair’s cover texture tightly. 

 

“I don’t really need them to do things for me” you answer, trying to keep your voice cold.

 

“Not even for a good fuck or anything like that? I heard some mafia families have their own whores.”

 

Your eyes widen and you swear you were  _ this _ close to lashing out at him a second ago. He’s blatant. Not even hiding it anymore. He just  _ said it out loud _ . 

 

“I don’t like the idea of sharing my partner with other people. Or paying money, for that matter.”

 

“So you’d be more about a personal bitch? Something like that?” He’s turning his back at you, but you can just  _ feel _ him smirk.

 

You lean forward and grab the fabric of your pants this time, close to tearing it apart. You’re positively sweating. Ashes fall on your jacket from the cigar in your mouth.  _ How fucking dare he drive you crazy like this _ . You glance at his back, his suit perfectly tailored to his slight frame. The two of you went to pick it out together, after all. You’ve even been in the locker room with him, one of the most embarrassing moments of your life, as you’ve seen Avilio way too close to being naked for your taste. You could’ve counted every rib for how tightly his skin clung to them. Somehow, his complexion seemed even lighter in the places commonly covered by layers of clothes, but it was just as creamy and soft as everywhere else. Translucent, almost. His hips, the crook of his legs, the curve of his back, his boney ankles - you had to look away. Then, later, you reminded yourself of everything you could’ve potentially done in that locker room, considering it was just the two of you and, in your position, you could’ve shot on the spot anyone who walked in. 

 

_ Yes, Avilio, a personal bitch. Not so much a ‘bitch’ as ‘personal’, and there are candidates already.  _

 

“Do you see me as someone whose first thought after becoming Don is all the people I can fuck?” You decide that fine, two can play this game, and he’s not allowed to treat you like an idiot, as if you can’t see what he’s doing.

 

“Well, you certainly look like someone who needs to relieve some frustration.” He turns towards you, looking down from where he’s sitting. It’s almost his poker face, which you’re so used to that this barely significant variation stands out, this layer of mischief. He wants something. He really does.

 

“I heard they have nice women in Chicago” he adds the offhanded comment.

 

“And why exactly would I go that far?”

 

“So you  _ are  _ interested in someone” Avilio smirks. 

 

You want to strangle him but also grab his thighs and bring him onto your lap when he doesn’t expect it. You limit yourself to a staring contest of sorts, the texture enclosed in your fist getting soaked with sweat at this point. Your neck is twisted in an uncomfortable degree just to keep your eyes fixated on him and demonstrate the amount of fierceness you can concentrate in your gaze.

 

“Not particularly,” you react to his earlier statement, “But I could be.”

 

He leans down a little, as if to say:  _ You’re not very good at lying _ . You resist the urge to pull away. The two of you can feel each other’s breath. He takes another sip of smoke, blowing it slowly and shamelessly in your face.

 

“And who would have the privilege of entering your bed in that case,  _ Don?” _

 

“Only those I trust the most.”

 

“Should I inform Barbero of all the possibilities he has he’s not aware of then?”

 

“You’re going too far with this.” Your voice almost cracks. You figure the ashtray is a better place for your cigar right now.

 

“And yet I wonder how much further I  _ need _ to go…”

 

*

 

He lets out almost a yelp as you pull him down. You’ve lost. You’ve surrendered. Someone will walk in on you and you’ll have to point a gun to their head to keep them quiet. At least the element of surprise has worked as he’s shut those mesmerizing eyes of his. You attack his lips hungrily, hasty breaths escaping you every time you need to pull away. A nice way of suffocating for sure. Wait, this is exactly what he’s been planning, he’s chuckling into the kiss with confidence. Motherfucker.

 

“You thought I didn’t notice?” You ask almost angrily.

 

“You thought I didn’t notice you’ve noticed?” He retorts, straddling your lap and grinding down on it. 

 

“So you enjoy acting coy then?” 

 

He bites into your lip sharply in response. No one else would survive doing this to you. No one.

 

“I enjoy seeing you struggle. It’s adorable.”

 

That’s the last straw and you flip the two of you around. His cigarette butt falls onto the floor, but a burnt stain on the carpet is the least of your worries. You should start being more responsible. He’s now stretched across the chair, arms lifted above his head and feet placed on the armrest; you’re standing between them. He reaches out with one leg, hooking a heel around your waist to pull you closer. He laughs shortly. 

 

Part of you feels undignified and definitely not in the mood for these games, but there’s another half begging to release sexual tension. His mockery is just making it worse. 

 

“We both know what you want to do, Nero.”

 

“Oh? And what would that be?”

 

Avilio manages to grab a hold of your tie. You struggle to keep your balance and not fall on him.

 

“What indeed?”

 

He yanks you a few inches closer and you have to support yourself against the armchair, but your arm is trembling as you do so. You’d prefer your hand to be somewhere else,  _ on him _ , to be specific. But that would mean you’re nothing but a sucker, easily fooled by the tender look he’s giving you. Avilio and his nauseatingly sweet smile, akin to the stale-tasting canned pineapple he likes so much.

 

“Maybe,” he palms your crotch without a second thought, “You should ask  _ this _ . About the things you want to do to me.” 

 

You exhale and attack his mouth again; at least he’ll shut up and you’ll get some satisfaction, even though you’re fully aware that you can’t fuck your right-hand man’s brains out in your office, in the middle of the day. You start sliding a hand inside his slacks, feeling a sharp hipbone, he seizes you with his legs, and your mind is just starting to go into a haze-

 

*

 

“Sorry for disturbing you, Nero, we need to discuss this as soon as possible-”

 

You’re willing to bet that Barbero, who has just burst into the room without even awaiting a response for knocking, will be even more  _ sorry for disturbing _ when he looks your way. You pull away and stand up in panic, trying your best to rearrange your clothes. He finally takes in the whole picture and his mouth twitches downwards. He and Avilio are staring at you simultaneously.

 

You stand there like an idiot, unsure what to say or if it’s even worth it to start explaining. You, the Vanetti Don, disheveled, with a bleeding lip and a very blatant erection. 

 

“W-what is it, Barbero? Are there news about Corteo or something?” You can’t even manage to make it sound formal, the words come out choppy, almost in spasms.

 

And the last straw is when you look at the armchair and Avilio still hasn’t moved from earlier, but his face has gone blank and dull so incredibly fast that even  _ you _ find it hard to believe that he’s ever had any contribution in the scenario. He turns towards Barbero, eyes unfazed. 

 

He’s the only one in the room who isn’t about to lose it. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, Barbero. Rest in pieces.


End file.
